Church hurt
From a Pastors Wife’s Perspective
by Ami Smith
I was cold, hungry, and so tired that I could barely stand up. I was also pregnant and homeless, and there were about 6 inches of snow on the ground when I pulled into the church's parking lot, desperately seeking some help.
The world had chewed me up and spit me out, and I was ready to give up. I had tried everything else; I had exhausted all other options. Even though I was far from a follower of Christ, this is where “good people” were, right? People who may help a young woman at the end of her rope…right?
The door was open, so I walked in quietly, not knowing what to expect. I headed into the small sanctuary, and the middle aisle seemed to be as long as an airport runway. Aware of every awkward glance and hesitation in surrounding conversations, I made my way to the pulpit, where there were a few people who seemed to be having some sort of conversation. It was not during a church service, so I did not assume I was interrupting anything. As I approached the ladies and gentlemen who were speaking to each other, the conversation slowly came to a halt while all eyes turned toward me.
“This is where good people are, this is where good people are,” I kept thinking to myself, trying to drown out my desire to turn and run away as fast as I could.
“Hello, young lady. What can we do for you?” the gentleman at the front asked me. As I slowly caught my breath, I said quietly, “I am pregnant, with no place to go. I am hungry, and I have nothing.”
“We don’t help people like you…”
Those words still ring so vividly in my mind. That one sentence drowned out every other sound in that room that I was so very aware of when I walked in. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I heard anything else after that for several minutes, at least not until I was a few miles down the road, barely seeing through the tears welling in my eyes and spilling onto my face.
“Never again,” I made a silent promise to myself. “I will never ask anyone else for anything.”
Was this church hurt? No. No, it wasn’t. Not even close.
Thirty years later, I know now what church hurt looks like. It looks like being in the middle of a close congregation, where friendships are formed, and someone realizes that they believe a slightly different doctrine and decide that they no longer want to worship under the same roof with you.
It looks like people you have been doing life with together for years deciding one day that they are finished, they walk away, and you never see them again, not ever understanding the reason why.
It looks like the people who have been at weddings, births of children, funerals, etc. deciding that they would rather worship with strangers than worship with you.
It looks like the people you have trusted with your testimony, all of it…. you know, the parts that you don’t share… telling other people, slandering your name, and painting an unnecessary picture of who you once were… so that you carry the shame that Jesus said was no longer yours to carry.
It looks like your friend who is flirting with your husband.
It looks like your secrets are being shared with an unforgiving world.
It looks like your parenting style is being judged, your children are being criticized, and your motives are being questioned and judged.
It can also look like your most intimate conversations shared, your desires that are dearest to your heart mocked, and cliques that do not include you… ever.
And even worse than all of this is when it looks like your husband kneeling on the floor, head in his hands, begging God to divinely intervene on behalf of all the people who fall into the categories above.
It looks like trying to console your husband when you hear him crying out to God in the shower because he doesn’t understand why people he loves are choosing to leave the church with no explanation.
It looks like your children crying because no one wants to be their friend and they expect you to know why. It also looks like knowing why.
It looks like being left out, gossiped about, and nothing you do ever being enough.
It looks like always being last, even by your husband, because the flock comes first.
And sometimes it looks like me asking God why…Why do I have to be a pastor's wife?
The fact is, if I was not the pastor's wife, I would have been one of the ones who left.
I am sure, I would have fallen into any of those categories above. I would have gossiped, I would have left someone out, and I would have betrayed someone.
I would have been the one to mock, slander, and make fun of someone.
I would have been the one who judged mercilessly and I would have been unforgiving.
It would have been me; it has been me.
Just because I happen to be the wife of the pastor at my place of worship, that does not mean I haven't been those people; it doesn't mean I am not that person. I am. I am she. I am the woman at the well. The only difference between those people and myself is…I have nowhere to go.
So, what is worse than being the person I mentioned above? Who gets mad at this or that and leaves without explanation, who slanders, gossips, and acts in ways that are not Christlike?
What is worse is being that person and not being able to leave.
God has done a mighty work in my heart.
He has shown me how much of a wretch I am, and He has brought to light the darkness of my own heart; however, He did not leave me there! He put me here, where I can be the constant… the one who will still be here for the ones who stay, or better yet, the ones who may come back.
I love my Heavenly Father more than anything in this world, and I seek to put a smile on His face. His word says He hates division and wants His children to be united, worshiping together in spirit and in truth.
The whole world is offended, and we are looking for the opportunity to offend and be offended. Offense is a tool that the enemy has thrown out like a pet owner throws a ball for their dog, and we have just taken it and run with it.
As a pastor's wife and someone who is absolutely in love with my Savior, I must stay, I must pray, I must forgive. I must push through my feelings or better yet set them aside.
Does “Church Hurt” affect me? Does it affect the next pastor's wife? Of course, it does, but it looks different for me. It looks like forgiving those who have betrayed me, who have lied to me, who have slandered me. It looks like seeing those who have hurt me and my family through the lens of Christ, the way he sees me.
Is it easy? No. Is it something I struggle with? Absolutely!! Yes! I am human.
But goodness is it worth it. I love the people who do choose to stay and those who have chosen to leave with an unbridled love. I am thankful that I cannot leave, and I am so grateful for those whom God has chosen to surround me with.
I am so very thankful that I have learned about mercy and grace in a way that not many get to, and although it is not easy, it is worth every tear that I have cried, every sleepless night, and every question of “Why?” that I have screamed out to my Lord.
"If a house is divided against itself, that house cannot stand." (Mark 3:25)
"Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace. One God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all. But to each one of us grace has been given as Christ apportioned it." (Ephesians 4:3)
Let me ask you a question. Where are you at with this? Have you ever been hurt by someone in the church? Have you been betrayed? Have you been the one who has slandered someone else and then left?
So, what does church hurt look like from a pastor’s wife's perspective?
It looks like love. It looks like grace and mercy even when it is undeserved. It looks like loving someone when it is hard and when I don’t feel like it… when it is a choice that is not “felt.”
We are one body, one church, one family made up of broken and flawed people like me. It looks like this…
